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travel light, pay later

by Gabriel Ricard

No one wants to turn forty,
and find themselves trying to bum a ride,
with fingernails that look like
they were chewed off in thirty seconds flat.

No one wants to be the childhood hero
bleeding for fifty strong in Tallahassee.

I know I don’t,
and try not to let this yard sale rope,
that gets me out every burned-bridge jam
under the sun fool you.

You can’t choose your friends,
can’t choose your poisonous hobbies
and you sure as hell can’t choose
who to fall in love with.

I’ll buy the poor kid a drink,
because I want to tell him to pack up
his typewriter, and get the hell out of here
before his feet slip right through the mouth
of a famished, selfish downtown.

I’ll spend thirty dollars on ten minutes
with the fiercest eyes and greatest sense of humor
I’ve ever seen.

I’ll tell her that it’s best we avoid speaking,
because I’m selfish,
and I’d rather believe she’s doing just fine
without the likes and facsimiles of me.

The ground covered here
is ten miles of bad road, five feet of clouds,
constantly changing sidewalks of Pacific ocean sand,
six more miles of Carpenter fog
and a thousand words from the Devil
about how much further I can take my bad ideas.

I’ll win five games of Kings with both eyes missing,
win fights with people who left me years ago
and celebrate,
with a bulletproof TV
shipped to me
from the Mystery Science Theater future.

I’ll tell my family I’m sorry
after the first million is found in locker five.

I’ll take her to lunch,
walk slowly as though that means something
and marvel at how easily she’s enduring me.

Nothing is what I want it to be,
for more than three days in a row.

Someday I won’t mind that.
The lonely middle will come with an option
to breathe when the view is gorgeous enough to keep me
from trusting the rooftop more than I should.

And if it doesn’t,
then let it never be said
that I wasn’t charismatic to the end.

And if I’m not,
then let it never be said
that I didn’t at least commit my wishes to paper first.

It’s an old-fashioned trick,
and it only sometimes works wonders.




09/11/2011

Posted on 09/11/2011
Copyright © 2024 Gabriel Ricard

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Joe Cramer on 09/11/11 at 08:06 PM

... nice.....

Posted by Meghan Helmich on 09/12/11 at 06:17 AM

"You can’t choose your friends,/can’t choose your poisonous hobbies/and you sure as hell can’t choose/who to fall in love with." So damn true. What a wonderful piece, Mr. Ricard.

Posted by George Hoerner on 09/12/11 at 06:55 AM

I've never seen lonely come with an option, but then I suppose I only looked for one once and that was once too often. For me there is only one option and it isn’t quite time for that yet. Nice write Gabe.

Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 09/12/11 at 10:39 AM

Phenomenal output, here, there and everywhere. :)

Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 09/12/11 at 07:53 PM

Philosophical jabberwocky! LOL!! Deterministic, but kicking all the way!

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